Down By the Riverside
by PhoenixDragonDreamer
Summary: Frothing, babbling…cool, clear rushes of cascading Life, the borders of it knowing no confinement.


**Warnings:** Character Study, Introspection, Missing Scene, Dark!Fic  
**A/N:** Written for **who_contest**'s **Prompt****: **_**River**_. This prompt came to me slowly, but once it did, it was solid and there was just no arguing with the Muse about it (as if I would). This just seemed...too perfect to not write - and though I'm quite sure I did not capture it half as well as I could see it, as always I gave forth my best effort (so I apologize for any vagueness or confusion that may lie therein). Fiction title based off of Agnes Obel's '_Riverside_' (as is, hopefully, the overall 'feel' of this piece). As always, this fic is mostly unbeta'd and written in one go, so please forgive any mistakes and/or blatant vagueness. As (as per usual), I apologize for any repetition, misspellings, sentence fails, grammatical oh-noes and general horridness. Unbeta'd fic is overly-thinky/blithery and unbeta'd.  
**Disclaimer(s): **_I do not own the scrumptious Doctor or his lovely companions. That honor goes to the BBC and (for now) the fantastic S. Moffat. The only thing that belongs to me is this fiction - and I am making no profit. Only playing about!_

* * *

It lead here.

Frothing, babbling…cool, clear rushes of cascading Life, the borders of it knowing no confinement.

Until it came here.

"It's like a song," the little girl said, eyes so wide and innocent - the edges of them a muddy brown - reflective of the borders they dare not cross.

The riverside was deceptive; sweet, inviting.

Still waters though (such as these), run deep. Deeper than any ocean, as the dangers seemed so much more limited.

Illusion within an illusion.

"A Melody," he murmured, eyes green, green like the grass beneath their feet, the canopy of the trees above.

"I do not know this 'melody'," the girl said honestly, face clear and open like the sky was not. "But I know the river. We cannot cross here."

"This is more of a lake…a pond even," he answered back, shivering as the trees sang to themselves of the future in echoes that rippled along his past.

The surface was clear and still…a mirror that held no truth within it. The truth lay beneath.

Truth usually did.

"I do not know of these lakes or ponds," the girl retorted. "Your words are odd. There is only the Song. There is only the River. This is where it is still. Where the waters run quiet."

"There is water in the forest," he whispered, closing his eyes to see those reflected surfaces that were silent and deep like the unmoved shores at his feet.

"Yes," said the little one. "It is a River. It is _the_ River."

"I understand now," he nodded, more to himself that the child whose hand he gripped too tight, fingers chilled and stiff with the coming of winter. "You are right, we cannot cross here. But I think I know a shortcut."

"You do?" The child asked wonderingly, eyes wide and too trusting in that small and pale face. "But you said you know not of this forest. You know of the trees, but not the deeps."

"To know the trees _is_ to know the deeps," he replied, unconsciously touching the bow at his throat as he consciously squeezed the little hand in a comforting gesture. "To know the river –"

" – is to know the forest," the child concluded, smiling with warm joy and sudden understanding.

He smiled down at her innocent features and felt his heart clench (a twinge, a contraction), a minute flutter. For just a moment. A small one, but one that echoed like the future across the past. He knew her future.

Now he was part of her past.

As it always was, so shall it always be.

Some things (some promises), can never (should never) be rewritten.

"And when we get there, Lorna Bucket," he said in a soft voice, eyes twinkling with secrets and half-truths; mysteries and not-quite-lies –

_like ripples across a lake that was a river in a song like a melody_

"When we get there, we will run."

**O-o-O**

Their feet left no distinct marking upon the shore. Their voices left no stir in the still air. The surface of the water was calm, unmarred by the wind that shook the trees above. The sky eternally murky dark, even in the quiet light.

In the Gamma Forest, by the River (that was a lake), Silence fell…and history was remade anew.


End file.
